"Two of my latest planes were destroyed in this asinine exercise," Göring said without preamble.
Skorzeny did not respond.
"This whole scheme of yours is madness. I told the Führer that when I first heard of it, and will tell him again tomorrow: You're taking this training too far. Killing soldiers is one thing; destroying my aircraft is quite another!"
"Hard training, easy mission," Skorzeny quoted quietly. "Easy training, hard mission."
Göring started to reply with a string of curses, but was drowned out by the siren of a passing rescue truck.
When relative silence returned Skorzeny replied, with a formal deference that was not quite satiric, "May I point something out, Herr Reichsmarschal?"
"Go on," the fat man snapped.
"The first gunship broke the pattern. All aircraft were ordered to orbit the target clockwise at three thousand feet They were to break the pattern for a run into the target only when called for by the ground teams. Once they cleared the target they were to break back into a clockwise turn out of the strike zone. The pilot of the first plane did the opposite, and turned straight into the second plane. In addition, one of the bombers broke out of the target area one hundred and eighty degrees from the flight plan and nearly took a wing off my transport. There were indeed mistakes made here. All of them by your people. Every miscue had its start not in my plan but your pilots, and that I must state in my report to the Führer."
Göring stared at him coldly for a moment, and then the thinnest of smiles creased his fat face. He motioned for Skorzeny to follow him across the street and out to the edge of the field where the two gunships were still smoldering.
"I don't like this plan of yours. It's too ambitious," Göring said when they had arrived.
"Yes, I'm well aware you think so," Skorzeny replied. Certainly Göring had made no secret of his opinion. And yet neither he nor anyone else had come up with a better. Thus his plan remained the only option to complete a job that had to be done. The Führer had called him in personally and ordered him to find a way to destroy the American atomic bomb program. In the joy of the moment —war again at last! —he had assured Adolf Hitler that he could do the job. Now the full weight of his promise, and the consequences of failure, pressed down upon him.
Suddenly the air was alive with exploding ordnance from somewhere in the middle of the field. Faster than thought Skorzeny dove for the tarmac, concluding on the way down that some part of one of the gunships must have survived intact and was now cooking off. Göring following with a pained "whoof " a half-second later.
When the detonations finally settled down, several men littered the field. The two stood, Göring filled with pained annoyance, Skorzeny happy and a little surprised to be alive. After a moment's consideration he decided that none of his men were to blame, and that matters were well in hand. He returned to the subject at hand.
"One month ago our Führer personally directed me to come up with a plan to destroy the American atomic facilities at Oak Ridge. Even given what little detail we have, it is clear that the place is simply too big for an air strike alone. We must follow up and hit it on the ground. We have to make sure the key buildings are destroyed."
He vaguely pointed to the rows of buildings, now illuminated by floodlights, as if the abandoned concentration camp was in fact on American soil.
"Your bombers tonight weren't even carrying bombs, the explosions were nothing more than placed charges on the ground. In reality I don't think they would have been anywhere near as accurate. The only planes carrying live ammunition were the gunships and they damn near killed me and my entire headquarters team." He didn't bother mentioning the casualties who were now being borne from the field, nor where the blame lay.
"I still think," Göring replied, "that my bombers alone can do the job. If Speer comes through as promised with his new production schedule, by next spring we'll have over four hundred Messerschmitt 264Es. Why make it complex beyond anyone's ability to manage with this insane paratrooper drop?"
Skorzeny shook his head imperceptibly. Being a prophet of air power was one thing, but Göring the Great War fighter ace was sometimes quite blinded to mission requirements by his passion.
"We have discussed this before, and the Führer agrees with me," Skorzeny said tiredly. "Given the range-to-target, even your 264Es would be able to deliver only five thousand kilograms each. Furthermore the strike has to hit at night. Less than half the bombs will land within five kilometers of the target area. The facilities at Oak Ridge are spread across dozens of square kilometers. Whole sections would be missed completely. Only by the miracle of a direct hit would specially hardened targets be destroyed.
"Also remember that the overall target comprises not just the buildings and labs; but includes the people of Oak Ridge as well. We need to put a battalion on the ground to make sure that the job is done properly. Otherwise in a matter of weeks, or at most months, they will be moving ahead full speed again.
"The British bombed Peenemünde repeatedly in the last months of the war and it barely dented the rocket research being done there. But imagine what would have happened if the British had been able to drop a battalion of commandos into the lab area and living quarters. They would have annihilated our rocket scientists and engineers, and that would have annihilated the program. If they could have killed a mere hundred key personnel —which is to say, von Braun and his team—the rocket program would have been crippled. It is the same here. In fact a primary goal of that bombing mission was exactly that; they tried to do it by air, and failed. Perhaps that point was insufficiently emphasized during our staff meeting."
Göring nodded slowly. "I still don't like it, what you're proposing to do once you land," he finally said. These aren't Russians, you know."
Actually, the orders he would issue once on the ground were known only to himself and to Hitler. Skorzeny considered for a moment. He had to have this man's active cooperation. Göring had to understand that bombers alone could not do the job.
"You mean the scientists? They're enemies of the Reich, more so than any soldier in the field. We must kill them. Kill every scientist at this Oak Ridge and we kill their atomic program. That is why the Führer is willing to go to war to stop the Americans before they beat us to this truly ultimate weapon."
Göring turned away to look back at the fire. "Still, this exercise was a shambles. Whoever was at fault, the fact remains that you yourself landed more than half a kilometer from your target, and I am told that your Third Company was more than two kilometers away. Bombers, these new gunships, and transports—all mixed in together. When the time comes for the real thing—it will be chaos."
This was more like it. He was coming around. Patiently Skorzeny continued his persuasion. "That's why the Führer has given us six months to prepare. Not only will it mean that the new longer-range planes will be available in sufficient numbers, it means that my men and yours will be specially trained for the operation as well."
Skorzeny paused for a moment.
"Herr Reichsmarschal, we can't succeed at this without your help. Only you can force the necessary rigor and quality of training, as well as the unstinting allocation of resources that will be required for us to succeed with this one decisive blow. Without your support this mission will fail, and I don't think I need to add that the Führer will want explanations for that failure. If we are successful, I know the Führer will be lavish in his praise for the guidance you will have provided."
Göring stood silent for a moment, visibly weighing the pros and cons of intransigence and cooperation. If Hitler were as committed as Skorzeny claimed, and Göring had no reason to think he was not, there would be no changing his mind—and defiance was unthinkable. Finally he spoke. "Very well. I will cooperate . . . fully. How shall we proceed?"
"I can see already some things will have to be changed," Skorzeny said quietly, carefully masking his triumph.
"Such as?"
"We are going to need m
ore time on the ground. Two, perhaps even three hours. I want to destroy every building, eliminate every middle- and upper-level technician. That means heavy equipment, especially antitank weapons to secure the roads so we can block any counterattacks. We'll also need to hold a secured perimeter around our pickup point. That means light and medium mortars, and antitank guns there as well. We'll need better command control and coordination. The planes will have to hit their drop areas with pinpoint accuracy. The only way to ensure that is to strike from treetop level, which in turn will require intensive low-level night training. I'll want more of the bombers—"
"Quite a mess you have here tonight Skorzeny," a new voice broke in from the surrounding darkness.
Skorzeny turned and stiffened as from out of the flickering shadows emerged SS Colonel Hoffbrauer, Himmler's personal secretary and informer. Hoffbrauer surveyed the entire scene with obvious disdain, and then turned back to Skorzeny, who barely acknowledged his presence.
"I have a suggestion," Hoffbrauer finally said, breaking the silence.
"And that is?" Skorzeny said grudgingly.
"Tour men need blooding."
"I lost half a dozen here tonight," Skorzeny replied coldly.
"Oh no, I don't mean in that way. They need to be reminded of what it is to kill. All this foolishness of running around in the dark, firing blanks at each other: it's like playing at 'Cowboys and Indians.' I could get you several hundred residents of one of our camps. You could dress them up as you desire, American, British, soldiers, civilians . . . even some women and children to add verisimilitude. Give your men live ammunition and get the real feel of a kill. I assure you, it would work wonders for their training. We do it all the time with some of our special units."
"Get the hell off this exercise field," Skorzeny growled.
Taken aback, Hoffbrauer said nothing.
"Get out of here before I break your neck. You make me want to vomit."
Göring chuckled softly as the SS officer bowed stiffly and withdrew with a look of haughty disdain, trying his best to mask his entirely justifiable fear that Skorzeny might follow word with deed.
"You made another enemy tonight."
"An enemy like that is a badge of honor. I am a soldier, not a butcher. I will do my assignment as the Führer orders. The Totenkopf units can play their murderous games; my men don't need it. They are professionals, not murdering thugs."
"Yet you are training to cold-bloodedly kill at the very least hundreds of American civilians. I can certainly conceive of no other way to be sure you have eliminated all key personnel."
"Civilian or not, they are not harmless victims. They are a threat to the Reich, to its very existence. What that scum's talking about is chaining up Russians and Jews for my men to shoot like so many goats. I can't stop his kind from pursuing their pleasures—but I'll be damned if I let them contaminate my men. And always remember, any moral issue aside, lingering over fallen prey is operationally inefficient!"
To Skorzeny that was clearly the worst crime of all.
Göring chuckled. "The truth is you are getting soft," he said, pretending not to believe that for the tall SS commando efficiency would outweigh any questions of morality every time.
Since Skorzeny had absolutely no doubts about his ruthlessness when ruthlessness was called for, the blow fell on air. "I'm a soldier. Killing in combat is my job. I'm good at it, and in fact I enjoy it." The witchfire that burned in his eyes as he spoke made the fat Reichsmarschal unconsciously take a half step back.
"But cold-blooded murder for little more than the pleasure of it is something else."
"I never thought you to be interested in such fine moral distinctions. Remember, Himmler is also under the orders of our Führer."
Skorzeny said nothing. Indeed that fact rather troubled him when he thought about it. For him the hunt, the fight, the climax of the kill, was life itself. But he had no truck with the sort of scum who thought that killing helpless prisoners was a manly thing. He could do it at need, of course, but he rated it somewhere below shooting caged rabbits on his personal scale of enjoyment. Alas, with the coming of peace those who enjoyed shooting caged rabbits had become the majority. Well, with war looming on the horizon, real soldiers would again enter into their own.
That thought having much improved his mood, he looked at Göring and smiled. There were several changes he was already considering. The key one that he had this moment decided on he wouldn't bring up just now; it was to take the raid away from Göring's Luftwaffe and put it under a newly created division of the SS: planes, pilots, everything. Cooperative or not Göring would interfere too much in the months to come and probably find some way to botch the job. Still, he would have to be careful. He had to gain complete control without alienating Göring. The man was simply too close to the Führer to let him become an enemy. Perhaps it should be Hitler's idea.... "There's one point to the plan I've been considering," Skorzeny finally said, diverting the conversation to less potentially explosive terrain.
"Yes."
"I had suspected as much before we started, but now it is obvious: I must be on the ground when the strike comes in."
"What?"
"It simply took too long to get my command organized, and even with practice it will still take too long. Furthermore the entire run-in is blind except for the navigator in the lead plane — and once he leads them into the area everything depends on the individual pilots, especially the transport pilots, being able to successfully identify their particular targets. And for that matter we are not even sure we have actually targeted all the sites; our intelligence promises it will get the information but I can't count on that. Infinitely better if the strike commander examines them up close just before the strike."
"How?" Göring asked curiously. "The moment you drop, the alert will be on."
"I won't drop. I plan to infiltrate into America a full week before the assault on Oak Ridge starts, and then travel as a civilian to the target area."
Göring's eyes widened incredulously.
"Think about it, Herr Air Marshal. The Americans have no concept of proper travel control. No permits needed, and everyone minds his own business compulsively, as if it were a virtue to ignore state-security needs. And now think about this: If I direct the attack from the target area, we will win."
CHAPTER SIX
February 22,1946 A Training Camp, Somewhere in Germany
Standing before these men, Otto Skorzeny was as nearly happy as a man like him could be when not in combat. To his right stood his second in command, Karl Radl. Across the map table from him stood the five company commanders of his strike team: Captains Holzer and Ulrich, who had both been with him for the raid on Leningrad; one-eyed Muhler who had come up through the ranks and was an expert with demolitions; Richer and Lenz who had both stuc lied in America, and thus had the special skills he now needed. Behind them stood the rest of his staff and the second in command for each company.
Covering the table between them was a highly detailed surveyor's map. An easel covered with an apparently made-to-order map that covered an area that included the United States, the Atlantic south to the Equator, and Western Europe stood to his left.
"This morning I met with our Führer and received his final approval. The attack date is scheduled for April twenty-first, fifty-eight days from today. You've been training hard for the last two and a half months. Now it is time that you learn what you are training for."
He gestured at the table map. This is Oak Ridge, in the state of Tennessee."
Openly consumed with curiosity, his staff leaned over the brighdy lit table, the men behind craning for a look.
T've traveled through that region," Richer murmured, breaking the ensuing silence. "In fact, there was this girl in Nashville----" He hesitated, then smiled with a boyish grin that his comrades found a bit chilling. Richer had the reputation of being absolutely pitiless, especially when it came to women. "Anyway," he continued after an uncomfortable moment,
"I've never heard of Oak Ridge."
Skorzeny nodded. "Officially, this facility doesn't exist. You won't find it on any road map, in any phone book, or city directory. Oak Ridge is one of the best kept secrets in America."
"Not that well kept, if we are looking at an Army Corps of Engineers map of the place," Richer replied.
"No, not anymore," Skorzeny said grimly, "but we lost some of our best agents acquiring the information in front of you. Once we learned of its existence and purpose, a special division was set up to reveal in as much detail as possible precisely what's going on there. The operation was given the highest classification, was organized outside the usual channels, and made answerable only to the Führer. Right now we have three operatives inside, one with a middle-level American security clearance, and a half dozen more in the Knoxville area. We also have an operative running a small airstrip forty miles from the base. Obviously that information does not leave this room," he added dryly
"Do we have any close-in aerial shots?" Lenz asked.
"No. I've asked for them but nothing has come through," Skorzeny replied. "We'll worry about that later." He was pleased that no one seemed daunted by the location within the continental United States. During the training the men knew that they were practicing against an American base, but it could have been anywhere. Now they knew.
"So what does go on there?" Muhler asked.
"It is the main American facility for the manufacture of atomic bombs." Skorzeny studied the men across from him. As he'd expected, his reply had made no particular impact. They merely looked at him, waiting for further enlightenment.
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